


Elves, Gremlins and Eskimoes

by beer_good



Category: Angel: the Series, The Simpsons
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beer_good/pseuds/beer_good
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel has become a liability to Wolfram & Hart, and so they decide to get rid of him and bring in some outside contractors to help get the company back in the red again. Now the crew of Angel Investigations will have to turn to someone who knows how to fight this new evil... Someone in a small town by the name of Springfield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fired

**Title:** Elves, Gremlins and Eskimoes  
 **Author:** Beer Good  
 **Rating:** PG13  
 **Timeline:** Angel season 5  
 **Disclaimer:** _Angel_ characters are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. _Simpsons_ characters are owned by Matt Groening and FOX TV.  
 **Summary:** Angel has become a liability to W &H, and so they decide to get rid of Angel and bring in some outside contractors to help get the company back in the red again. Now the crew of Angel Investigations will have to turn to someone who knows how to fight this new evil... Someone in a small town by the name of Springfield.

**Elves, Gremlins And Eskimoes**

**Part 1: Fired**

_Somewhere, in another dimension..._

"This is ba-a-a-ad!" The Wolf and the Hart snickered; the Ram tended to fall back into goatspeak when it was upset about something. The Ram responding by raining fire and destruction upon them for an eternity or two (roughly 10 seconds of Earth time – you know what time is like in hell dimensions). "Stop la-a-a-aughing!"

Of course, these being super-evil extra-dimensional lawyers, the fire and destruction didn't really hurt them in any way, and so the Wolf and the Hart swallowed their mirth and nodded. "You're right." "Yeah." "We need to do something about him."

All three of them knew the situation; they had given the position to the vampire in the hopes that power would corrupt him, turn a thorn in their side into an unknowing or at least unwilling minion. Let him think he's doing good, while at the same time actually have him work on the very apocalypse he thinks he's preventing. An Evil Scheme of no small merit.

There was just one problem: it wasn't working. He was actually making a difference, even if he might not see it himself. It wasn't so much the few demons they let him kill, but the alarming lack of lack of moral that was suddenly gripping the entire branch. If this were allowed to spread, there was a real danger that their formerly evil employees might actually start to think that they had... free will, or something. Steps needed to be taken.

And so they voted. All in favour of replacing the vampire? Aye. But with whom? They needed fresh blood. They needed someone with many years of experience. Someone evil, obviously. They got out the Rolodex of Evil and started looking; when they hit entry #591, they all smiled and nodded. Oh yes. He'll do nicely.

* * *

  
_Somewhere else... in sunny LA, to be precise._

It was a normal day at the LA branch of Wolfram & Hart. Lawyers and demons milled about, contracts were signed, souls were traded like baseball cards, and the coffee machine was always set to "extra black". But up on the executive floor, things had changed.

The first thing Angel noticed was that Harmony wasn't at her desk. Instead, her place was occupied by a well-dressed but somewhat effeminate man in his mid-30s, who tried to intercept Angel as he made his way towards his office. "Uh, Sir? You can't go in there, Sir..."

Angel ignored him, pushed open the doors to the CEO's office and frowned. "OK, who are you and what are you doing in my office?"

The ancient, bald, scrawny man who sat behind what Angel still thought of as _his_ desk looked up, incredibly annoyed at the interruption, and made no attempt to hide the sing-song of sarcasm in his voice. "Oh, so it's 'yoooour' office, is it?" He slammed his fist on the desk. "I'm the new CEO of Wolfram  & Hart, who the devil are you?"

"My name is Angel, and _I'm_ the -"

"Angel, eh? Ah, yes, the senior partners mentioned you. Said you weren't quite... evil enough for the job. You're fired."

"What? They can't fire me! I'm the vampire with a soul! I'm supposed to play an important part in the apocalypse! They can't simply..."

"Little to the left."

"Oh. OK." Angel took a stop to the left. "As I was saying, this must be a mistake. The senior partners caAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..."

The trapdoor in the floor where Angel had stood a moment ago closed, and Montgomery Burns leaned back with a vicious smile on his face and put his fingers together. "Eeeexcellent."


	2. Ghost Town

**Part 2: Ghost Town**

"Ow."

"Keep still, you big lug."

"Lorne, do you even know what you're – OW! I really don't think that's going to fit in there!"

"Fred, help me out here? Our fearless leader won't stay still. Hold his arms down." Together, Fred and Lorne helped set the bones that Angel had broken on his one-way trip from the executive floor to the not very forgiving concrete floor of the basement.

When they were done and vampire healing started kicking in, Angel sat up painfully on the pouf in the lobby of the Hyperion. It was good to be back at the old hotel, but right now he missed the big leather couch in his office... Oh well, at least all the others had been fired along with him (though the more fragile members of the team had been given the luxury of an elevator ride accompanied by armed guards. Lucky bastards.) "So how come we've never heard of this guy before?"

"Because he's not with Wolfram & Hart, or with any evil organization we've come across. He's an independent contractor." Wesley leafed through a pile of photocopies and scribbled notes. "I wish I had access to Wolfram & Hart's files, but I've managed to put together some information. His name is Charles Montgomery Burns. Apparently he used to run a nuclear power plant in some place called Springfield."

"What state?"

Wesley had just lifted a cup of tea to his mouth, so he just held up the paper with that information for everyone to read.

"Huh."

"Strange."

"I had no idea there was a nuclear power plant _there_."

Wesley put his cup down. "Now, the good news is that my sources indicate that he is human, with no supernatural powers, except for perhaps some sort of longevity charm. Apparently, he's... oh my. 104 years old."

"He certainly looks it", Angel rolled his eyes. "I mean, the hair alone, seriously..." He noticed the others staring at him and trailed off.

Fred changed the subject. "So how evil is he? Y'know, on a scale from... fluffy bunny to, uh, Satan?"

"Well... his plant has had numerous security breaches and he's been under investigation by the Nuclear Regulatory Commission since 1938, which is remarkable as they weren't founded until 1974, if I remember correctly. He was nominated for an Oscar for _Monty Burns: A Life_..."

"I've seen that," Lorne groaned. "I vote he's evil."

"He has also run a number of other businesses, including a casino, an oil company, a recycling plant which wiped out half the wildlife in the state, and appointed himself God of his own religion. Union representatives at his companies keep disappearing, and there are unsubstantiated rumours that he sold weapons to the Nazis as late as nineteen-fortyfo... sorry, that's nineteen-FIFTYfour."

"You call that evil?" Everyone looked at Angel, who managed to shrug cynically. "Hey, I'm not saying I'd want to go bowling with him on a weekly basis, but so far he doesn't sound any worse than any other CEO in LA..."

"He blocked out the sun once."

"Right, he's evil. We have to stop him." Angel limped over to the weapons cabinet and opened it, tossing a big battle ax to Gunn. "We'll hit Wolfram & Hart at dawn. Gunn, you take out security. Fred, hack into their computer... net... thing and disable _everything_. Uh, except the elevators, we might need those. Wes, come up with a spell that will keep us safe from any counter-attack. Lorne, sing something rousing. Let's take them!" He noticed the others staring at him and ran out of steam. "OK, so a frontal assault on Wolfram  & Hart might not be our best plan."

"I agree." Wesley nodded sagely. "I think our best course of action would be to find out more about who we are facing here. No one that evil can live in the same town for that long without making a few enemies. Someone there is bound to know how his weak spots."

"OK then." Angel picked up the car keys. "Angel Investigations are going to Spri-"

"What about..." Fred spoke up. "I mean, I know he's a ghost and everything, but.. it feels wrong to just leave him there with all those evil –"

"Spike can take care of himself," Angel snorted. "Besides, it's not like we have a choice; he can't leave LA, remember? As I was saying, Angel Investigations are going to Springfield!""

* * *

  
They pulled into Springfield at sunset. It was an odd-looking town, most houses painted in unusually bright colours and everything seeming... _simpler_ , somehow, than life in the big gritty city. Yet a darkness seemed to have settled over the little town; candles burned in most windows and the major source of light was the tire yard fire. After they knocked on the door of the nuclear plant for 20 minutes, it became obvious that Mr Burns hadn't left anyone in charge. The town's only source of power was deserted, spiderwebs already forming on the gate.

Downtown, the once-peaceful little burgh had turned into a nightmare – or at least a slightly uncomfortable dream. The statue of Jebediah Springfield watched sadly as the dark streets were ruled by the town's criminal element (one guy with a snake tattoo and a handful of teenagers). Most everything was boarded up or looted. City Hall stood empty, a note on the door saying "Gone to Barbados" in a vaguely Ted Kennedy-ish accent.

"Right, so where do we start looking for someone who knows Burns?"

"Police station?"

Turned out that was boarded up too. A solitary police cruiser sat burned-out on the street, and only a huge pile of empty donut cartons outside one of the second-floor windows hinted that someone might be inside with enough supplies to last a while. They knocked.

"Hello? Anybody there?"

After several seconds, a whiny, piggish voice answered from the other side of the door. "...No."

"Come on!" Angel pounded harder. "Don't you see what's happening to your town? This is a police station, isn't it?"

"Uh... no." The voice hesitated. "This is... uh... the local chapter of the Police fan club. Sting rocks. Uh... _Roooooxaaaanne, you don't have to stand so close to me..._ "

"Please." Lorne rolled his eyes as they walked away. "Sting couldn't rock if he fell into a quarry."

Angel opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. "Right. So, no power, no police, no government... does _anything_ still work in this town?"

"Well," Wesley scratched his stubble, "when societies collapse, people always tend to set up some informal infrastructure to ensure that their most important needs are fulfilled..."

Lorne snapped his fingers. "Of course!"

"What?"

"Well, I was just thinking... if the world was ending, if life just got you down and you didn't have a job to go to... I know where I would be."

Moe's Tavern was dark, and inside the beer fumes were almost as overpowering as the smell of the unwashed patrons and the men's room that hadn't been cleaned out since 1972. But judging from the mumbled dialogue, clinking of glasses and occasional violent belching it was open for business. As they swung open the door, the first thing that greeted them was the barrel of a shotgun, aimed squarely at Angel's head by the surly, grey-haired, and extremely ugly bartender. "That's just far enough, strangers. One more step and I'll blow ya friggin' heads off."

"Is this how you welcome..."

That's as far as Angel got before the shotgun went off. Angel hit the floor and everyone dove for cover, half-deaf and blind from the bang and gunsmoke.

"Ah, jeez," Moe muttered. "I gotta learn how to work the safety on this thing."


	3. Sidekicks

**Part 3: Sidekicks**

Meanwhile, back in LA, the California sun streamed through the windows as Waylon Smithers pulled open the drapes in the CEO's penthouse. "Good morning, sir. Did you have a good night's sleep?"

He went over to the bed, where Mr Burns lay immobile. Smithers' checked his boss's pulse, retrieved a small portable defibrillator and gave the old man 200 volts of electricity. Burns' heart beat a couple of times and he opened his eyes.

"Aaaah, good morning, Smithers. What's for breakfast?"

"I've got your favorite here, sir: Condor eggs, toast from wheat grown on what used to be Brazilian rainforest, and freshly clubbed baby seal bacon."

"Eeeexcellent." Burns opened his mouth and let Smithers feed him. After he was done, he let himself be dressed as he looked out over the rooftops of Los Angeles."You know, Smithers, this is quite the change from Springfield. There's so much to do here. In fact, I've got a hankering for some culture tonight. I believe I'll take in a show. [Sarah Bernhardt](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarah_Bernhardt) in _The Lady of the Camellias_ , perhaps? Yes, that's the ticket. See to it."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, sir."

"Oh? And why is that, pray tell?"

"Well... she's been dead since 1923, sir."

Burns shot his retainer a dark look, his voice growing irritated. "So? This is Wolfram & Hart, isn't it? Raise her, damn you!"

*POP*

Spike suddenly appeared in the bedroom. "Wouldn't do that if I were you, gramps. Speakin' as someone who's had a bit of experience with raising dead women... they generally don't appreciate it much. Plus, I saw Sarah Bernhardt back in 1879; she wasn't all that great. Sandra Bullock of her time, if you ask me."

"What in blazes are you doing here?" Burns stared at him. "Smithers, protect me with your life."

"Right away, sir." Smithers moved between them, putting his fists up.

The ex-vampire scoffed. "Please. No need to worry about ol' Spike. I'm just a phantom, without any say in when and where I turn up. Hell, I can't even touch anything 'less I really really try..." He leaned over the breakfast tray and carefully grabbed Burns' coffee cup, and his face lit up as he managed to lift it. "Hey, look at... Oh bugger."

*POP*

Spike disappeared from view again and the coffee cup shattered on the floor. Burns turned to Smithers with a puzzled look.

"Smithers, who was that suffering centequadragenarian?"

"That was William the Bloody, one of our resident ghosts, sir."

"William, eh? Have him fired."

"We can't. Apparently, he's cursed to haunt this place. Even the lawyers can't seem to find a way to get rid of him."

"Lawyers? Bah, humbug! Bloodsuckers, one and all! DAMN THEIR OILY HIDES!"

* * *

  
A few hours later, having spent the morning going over his new duties, Smithers opened the door to the CEO office. "Are you ready to order lunch now, sir?"

"Yes, I think so." Burns looked over the piece of paper in front of him. "I believe I'll have... ooh, sautéed M'Fashnik, that sounds lovely. And I'll have an... Archduke Sebassis for dessert."

"Sir, that's not the menu, those are your meetings for this afternoon. You're expected to negotiate a peace treaty between..." Smithers checked his notes, "14 different demon clans, who are all our clients and are also all bribing us to betray the other 13."

"Negotiate? Charles Montgomery Burns does not finagle with fiends!" Burns leaned back and pondered. "Couldn't we just... well... have all of them killed?"

"I... suppose so... though I don't think the Senior Partners would -"

"Eeexcellent. That's that problem solved, then. Oh, and make sure to save me a slice of Durslar beast, would you?"

*POP* And there was that blonde vampire ghost again. "Now look, you _really_ don't want to do that. Believe me. I've had Durslar beast, and they're not exactly what you'd call a delicacy. Now, I could bitch and whine about how unfair it is that you're enjoying all the perks of running this place whereas yours truly can't even have as much as a drop of pig's blood, but," Spike's face took on a dreamy look at the thought of food, "if you want a recommendation, you take a nice, succulent Suvolte demon and roast it over... Oh bloody hell." *POP*

Burns looked at the spot where Spike had stood a few seconds earlier and spoke in a low, menacing tone. "Have Billy Idol killed."

"But sir-"

"DO AS I SAY!"

* * *

  
"You know, Smithers, annoying ghosts aside, I think I could really get used to running Wolfram & Hart", Burns mused as the sun set. "I believe that power plant was just a phase; this is much more exciting. I wield absolute power over minions in several universes, I can start and stop wars and apocalypses at will, and apparently, I even have a teleportation device somewhere. Do fetch it for me, will you?"

"Teleportation device, sir?"

"Yes, I was perusing some of our brilliant innovators' creations, and I found this." Burns handed over a written report. "Sounds like a splendid apparatus, don't you think?"

"Well..." Smithers took a few minutes to eye through the report. "It says it was an experimental model. The entire research department disappeared without a trace along with the three surrounding blocks, and the ensuing chain reaction came close to wiping out the entire world. The prototype itself eventually folded into the seventh dimension, making it invisible to all but Cnyphon demons, all of which were killed when the Hellmouth collapsed. I'm afraid you'll simply have to settle for the enormous car pool, the helicopter and the company jet, sir."

"Piffle! The CEO of Wolfram & Hart must travel in style, not like some Peter Pauper!" Burns raised his cane and waved it feebly to and fro. "Find me the teleport machine or I will tan your hide!"

*POP* "Oh for the love of..." Spike rolled his eyes at the heavens. "Look, you old geezer, don't you recognize a Bad Idea when it kicks you right in the face? Even if you do manage to find that telewhatsit thing, it'll most likely send your decrepit old self to some untold hell dimension where you'll suffer eternal... torture and pain and... come to think of it, that's a pretty good idea. You do that. Ta." *POP*

"I _really_ dislike that spectre. Smithers..." Burns' voice dipped low, vicious. "Release the hounds."

"You mean the ghost-sniffing ethereal hellhounds of M'Haffla, sir?"

"Yes yes yes." Burns waved his hand impatiently. "Those too."

* * *

  
After putting Mr Burns to bed, Smithers retreated to his own little apartment in the W&H skyscraper, poured himself a large glass of whisky and sank into a chair with a deep sigh. "Oh Monty, Monty... what are we do-"

*POP* "Sure you should be drinkin' alone there, mate?" Spike suddenly sat in the other chair.

Smithers took a deep swig. "Well, I don't think I'll be inviting you, considering how you've been harassing my poor boss all day."

"Fair point, I guess. But I figure since your boss has had me running from ghostly hellhounds the last few hours, you owe me. I can't exactly drink, but I can probably get high off the fumes." Spike leaned in close, his face next to Smithers', and took a deep whiff of his breath. "Oh yeah. That's good whisky you got there."

"One of the perks, I guess." Smithers closed his eyes and shook his head. "You know what? I've been working with Mr Burns... Monty... for 18 years. I've done everything for him, tried to be like him. We've had our ups and downs, and there's always been things I would have wanted to..." Smithers took a deep breath and another sip of whisky. "But then we came here, and it's like... since he started working at Wolfram & Hart, he's forgotten everything that got us here. We've always done things that were... less than good, but we were small-town people. Now he's one of the most powerful people in the world, and I think this place is already starting to corrupt him, making him think he can have everything... He's losing his way, and meanwhile, I feel like I'm disappearing into the background. After 18 years... Can you understand how that feels?"

Spike seemed to think about the question for a long time. "I think I can relate to some of that, yeah." He leaned in for another sniff of whisky, and they sat like that as the last rays of the sun sank beneath the horizon.


	4. Resources

**Part 4: Resources**

_Previously on "Elves, Gremlins and Eskimoes": Angel got fired, Burns got hired, the Fang Gang went on a road trip, Spike made a friend, Angel got blasted in the face with a shotgun._

"That gentled you down some, didn't it?" Moe peeked over the bar as Angel sat up, wincing.

Ears still ringing from the shotgun blast, Gunn and Wesley took the opportunity to jump the bar, snatch the shotgun away from the ugly bartender and shove him up against the wall. "Betcha didn’t expect him to get up again, huh?"

"Hey, hey, hey, watch the shirt!"

"I’m alright, Gunn." Angel stumbled to his feet, grimacing and spitting. "I hate getting shot... that _stung_."

"Gee, fellas, it was just salt!" Moe wriggled out of Gunn’s grip.

Wesley sniffed the shotgun with a confused look. "You loaded the shotgun with rock salt?"

"Nah, just regular salt." Moe shrugged. "I ordered a hundred pounds back when tequila shots were supposed to be the big thing, but nobody around here never drinks nothing but Duff. Uh, no hard feelings, right guys?" He quickly poured a few beers and handed them out to his new guests.

The gang cautiously accepted the glasses and took a sip. Everyone except Wesley grimaced. "This beer is warm."

"Well, whaddayou expect? Power’s been out ever since that Mr Burns skipped town. Lousy town-skippers, they're all the same."

"Well, as it turns out..." Wesley took another deep swig of beer. "This is excellent, by the way. It’s rare to find an American barkeep who knows the proper serving temperature of beer."

"Wes..."

"Right. As I was saying, we happen to be in town to find out more about this Mr Burns. I don’t suppose you would know someone who can tell us anything about him?"

Moe shook his head. "I sell beer. Ya want information, get it from the police. I don't wants no trouble."

"But Moe..." One of the sad drunks at the far end of the bar, an obese man who obviously had not set foot outside the tavern in the last 18 years, belched violently before slurring on. "Wasn't Homer in here yesterday, talking about how he knew Mr Burns better than anyone and could make life very difficult for him?"

"Barney's right," answered another man sharing a snug booth with a, um, friend. "Ever since we got laid off from the plant, Homer's been all _'I'll show him'_ this and _'He'll be sorry he messed with Homer J Simpson'_ that every time he's drunk. They got a history, right Carl?"

"Yeah. I mean, his daughter even shot Mr Burns that one time," his dark-skinned companion added.

"I thought that was Mr Smithers?"

"Nah, I'm pretty sure it was little Maggie Simpson."

Barney gasped. "You mean it wasn't ME? I was sure... I've been drinking away the *hic* guilt ever since, and... dear God, I've wasted my life!" He held up the empty beer glass to the lack of light, blinking away the tears. "This must be it. Rock bottom. I'm going to turn my life around. No more drinking. From now on, you'll be seeing a new Barney Gumble!"

Moe quickly poured him another beer. "That's great, Barn. I think that deserves a toast, don't you?"

"Well... I suppose... one last drop." Barney emptied the glass in one long swig, belched and sighed with pleasure. "Oh yeah. That hit the spot. What were we talking about again?"

"Nothing important."

Meanwhile, Lenny and Carl – aided by another round of tepid Duff - had convinced the Angel gang that this Homer Simpson was definitely their man if they wanted to wage war on Burns. "Hey, Moe, give them Homer's address."

"Why would I wanna do that? Taking on Burns, that sounds dangerous."

"Well..." Angel furrowed his brow. "The fight against evil is never easy, or safe. But a champion must always be prepared to -"

"Alright, alright, shut yer trap, he lives at 742 Evergreen Terrace." Moe shot an angry look at Lenny and Carl. "And if these weirdos get Homer killed, I'm chargin' his bar tab to youse guys."

The gang thanked everyone and made their way towards the exit... but before they made it there, they heard Moe cock the shotgun behind them. "Uh, fellas... I never said that beer youse had was free."

* * *

  
"So are we sure about this?" Angel hesitated with his finger on the doorbell. "I mean, based on what his friends told us about him, not to mention that he still has Christmas ornaments on his roof in September..."

"I figure anyone who's messed up _that_ many times and still kept his job must have some kinda secret his boss don't want the world to know," Gunn shrugged. "Besides, I ain't goin' back to that bar if I can help it."

"Well, we still have to pick up Lorne on the way back," Fred pointed out. "It was nice of him to sing for our tab."

"Yeah yeah. Now ring the damn bell already."

Angel rang the doorbell. Or rather, he pushed the button to no avail, as there was – of course – no power. Everyone glanced at each other as if to say "Yeah, I knew that," and then Angel knocked.

The door was opened by a boy, looking to be about 10 years old but with a hard, wicked spark in his eye, as if he'd seen a little too much (and caused most of it).

"Hi, we're... uh..." Angel hesitated. "Are you supposed to be up this late?"

"Meh. I'm Bart Simpson, who the hell are you?"

"We're here to see your father."

"DAAAD!" Bart seemed bored with them already. "VISITORS!"

The entire house shook as something big approached at a gallop. Gunn, Angel and Wes instinctively checked that they had their weapons ready, but relaxed when the thing showing up in the doorway turned out to be merely a man. To be precise, a man in his late 30s, balding, overweight, sweating profusely and looking as excited as a well-behaved child on Christmas. "Are you from the TV company?"

"Uh..." Angel, Gunn, Wesley and Fred exchanged a look before Wes continued. "Actually, we'd like to talk to you about your former employer. You used to work at Mr Burns' nuclear power plant, correct?"

"Do you know _anything_ about TVs?"

"Not as such... but it's very important that we get to speak with you."

Homer's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Awww. Alright, I guess." He turned to walk inside, nodding for them to follow, which they did... except for Angel.

"Um... Mr Simpson, is it allright if I enter your home?"

"I said so already, didn't I?"

"Actually, you didn't _say_ it."

"Oh, I think I know when I've invited someone into my home."

"All the same, I'd really need you to say it."

"Say what?"

Gunn, Wesley and Fred exchanged a look. Wesley cleared his throat. "Angel is... very formal. He needs a spoken invitation before he'll enter someone's home."

"Really?" Homer looked uncertain, and whispered in Wesley's ear loud enough for everyone to hear: "Is this some sort of gay thing?"

"Of course not! He's just..."

"Oh, I get it, he's too snobby to enter just anyone's home, is he?" Homer puffed up his chest as the rest of the family came out into the hallway to see what the hubbub was about. "Well, let me tell you, Mr Big City, if you don't want to enter my home, then fine. I'm not going to force you. You can just stay out there as far as I'm concerned."

His wife sighed. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Homer, just invite the man in!"

"No." Homer crossed his arms, sulking.

"Look," Angel said, "I apologize if I insulted you in any way, but my companions and I really need your help. So if you'll just invite me in..."

"Actually, Dad..." The Simpsons' daughter, keeping respectful distance, looked at Angel with a suspicious frown. "I don't think you should."

Homer turned to her with a look like a defiant 5-year-old. "Oh you don't think I should, do you? Well, let me tell you missy, when Homer J Simpson invites a man into his home, then that man is welcome in this house and that's that!"

"I'm glad to hear that." Angel nodded. For a few seconds, everyone stood around waiting. "So...?"

"What?" Homer blinked.

"Are you going to invite me in?"

"Oh, sorry. Puh-leeeese come in, your majesty."

Angel finally entered. As everyone introduced themselves they moved into the candle-lit living room, except for Marge who hurried into the kitchen to rustle up something to eat.

"So, Mr Simpson, we're..." Angel trailed off as he looked at the contraption sitting beside the TV. "What _is_ that?"

"I've been building my own powerplant but..." Homer pointed to the heap of randomly pieced together electrical appliances and wires connected to a hamster wheel. " _Some_ people don't appreciate the importance of television."

"Homer, for the last time." Marge entered with a tray of cookies. "The dog doesn't fit inside the hamster wheel."

"Stupid dog." Homer grumbled and kneeled next to the dead TV, brushing the dust off its screen. "Patience, my love. Soon, we will be reunited."

Wesley cleared his throat. "Mr Simpson... I really think we need to talk. We have come all the way from Los Angeles to find out -"

"Take _that_ , evil fiend!" Suddenly, Lisa leapt up in front of Angel, brandishing a cross. Angel instinctively stumbled backwards, yelping heroically. "A-HA!" Lisa was all triumph. "I _knew_ it! He's a vampire!"

"Oh, honey, he's not a vampire. And be careful with that." Marge took the cross from her.

"But he is, Mom! He's pale, he needed an invitation, he's afraid of crosses and he hasn't even _touched_ your cookies! He's one of the walking undead! _Begone, demon!_ "

"I'm really sorry, Mr Angel," Marge said. "I don't know what's gotten into her tonight. Usually she's the good one, but with everything that's been going on..."

The Angel gang looked at each other, and Angel nodded. "It's OK. She's right. I am a vampire."

"SEE! Told you!" Lisa jumped up and down with excitement.

Bart was not bored at all anymore. "Cool!"

"Oh well. I'll go check if we have any blood in the fridge." Marge disappeared into the kitchen again.

"So when you say you're a vampire..." Homer furrowed his brow. "What you're actually saying is...?"

"Dad... I think he really means he's a vampire."

Homer chuckled. "Oh, Lisa, what did I tell you about vampires? They're not real, just like elves, gremlins and -"

The girl rolled her eyes. "We’ve been over this. Eskimoes are real, Dad. And apparently, vampires too."

"Sure they are, honey. Suuure they are." Homer smiled, ruffled Lisa's hair and turned to Angel. "Aren't kids just the sweetest things when they think they know everything?"

"Uh..." Angel glanced at his colleagues, raising his voice slightly. "I wouldn't know. Vampires can't have children."

"Uh-huh. So how many kids do you have?"

" _Listen to me!_ " Lisa stamped her foot. "He is a _vampire!_ He kills by sucking blood!"

"Well, actually..." Angel did the standard cursed-with-a-soul presentation. (It had really become a lot easier since he got Harmony to put together a laminated Powerpoint presentation about it.)

"See, Lisa? He's a _good_ vampire."

Lisa sighed. "If anybody wants me, I'll be in my room." She trudged upstairs.

Wesley rubbed his temples; he had a feeling this would be a long night. "Now, Mr Simpson. What we need from you..."

* * *

  
Upstairs, Lisa was lying on her bed, writing in her diary when there was a knock on the door. "Come in. I mean, wait -"

The door opened. "Hi, Lisa. Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Oh. Hello, miss Burkle. You're not a vampire too, right?"

"No. And please, call me Fred." Fred sat down on the edge of Lisa's bed. "Whatcha writing?"

"My diary. I know it's silly, but-"

"Oh heck, I kept a diary until I was 21. Then they got... weird." Fred grimaced. "I just wanted to say, that was some impressive thinking on your feet down there. Figuring out Angel's a vampire just like that..."

"It just seemed logical, you know? Besides, a lot of weird things have been happening here at night since the power plant shut down. I mean, there's..." Lisa stopped. "Nah. You wouldn't believe me."

"Hey, until a couple of days ago, I was the head of the science department of an interdimensional lawfirm run by a vampire. Trust me, there are very few things I wouldn't believe. Except leprechauns."

Lisa suddenly came over all awestruck. "You had an entire science department all to yourself?"

"Yup. State-of-the-art... well, everything." Fred sighed wistfully. "They told me it's the fourth most advanced lab on the planet."

"Oh, that's so what I want to do when I grow up..." She got out a binder of photocopied articles from science magazines. "Did you have access to a particle accelerator too? I thought the latest findings on ekpyrotic processes in relation to string theory was fascinating."

Fred got in physics geek mode along with her. "Actually, I think Khoury doesn't know what he's talking about, I mean the findings of..." She leafed through the binder. "You've read all this? And understood it?"

"Well... not _all_ of it."

"That's still pretty impressive for an 8-year-old. Betcha get that from your dad, huh? Him being a nuclear technician and all...?"

Lisa laughed nervously. "Uh... yeah. I guess. Look, I don't know what you want with my dad, but he's not really..."

"Our company has been taken over by his former boss, and we need to find a way to get rid of him."

Lisa grew pale. "Mr Burns has access to the fourth most advanced lab on the face of the planet?"

"Well, some of it's underground, but... yeah. That's one of the reasons we're trying to stop him." Fred smiled. "You wanna help us?"

* * *

  
As Fred and Lisa came back downstairs with a few quickly loaded bags, the discussion was still going on in the living room.

"...and that should be it." Wesley had spent two hours trying to explain the situation to Homer, and his head was killing him. "Any questions?"

"Just a few. What is a Wolfram & Hart again?"

"A law firm."

"Oh, of course. And a CEO?"

"The boss of a company."

"A-ha. And Los Angeles?"

"Is a big city in California."

"Read you loud and clear. Then I just have one more question: who is -"

"Mr Burns is your former boss at the nuclear power plant."

"Riiight." Homer nodded thoughtfully, emphasizing his words with finger quotes. "So what your saying is that if I go with you to 'Los Angeles' to help you stop 'Mr Burns' from staying 'CEO' of a 'law firm', you will get my TV working again?"

Angel, Gunn and Wesley exchanged a _very_ long look. "Uh... sure."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Homer got to his feet, declaring loud and clear: "The Simpsons are going to LA!"

"Yeah!" Bart, whose bedtime had been forgotten in all the excitement, pumped his fist in the air.

Marge yawned. "Homer, it's after midnight. You know what..."

"Oh. Right. First thing tomorrow, The Simpsons are going to LA!"

"Look, Mr Simpson, we're really in quite a hurry here." Angel glanced at his watch, shaking off a strange feeling of deja vu.

"I appreciate that, Mr Angel," Marge replied, "but we don't go out after midnight. Strange things have been happening lately."

"Oh, come on, Mom! Last one in the car's a rotten egg!" Bart ran to the door and threw it open – and froze on the doorstep as he saw what was outside.

The two giant creatures walking down the street immediately turned their heads towards the sound of the door opening. Baring their teeth in vicious grins, they lifted their weapons and charged the house. As they came closer, the Angel gang were horrified to see what they were: a cat and a mouse, both well over 10 feet tall on their hind legs, with giant axes in their hands and a murderous gleam in their eyes.

"Oh no!" Bart gasped. "It's Itchy and Scratchy! _Run!_ "


	5. Scouring

**Part 5: Scouring**

Angel acted quickly, pulling Bart inside and slamming the door just as the two monsters crashed into it and were knocked back onto the lawn, little birds flying around their heads. It wouldn't hold them off for long, though. "Gunn! Little help here!"

Gunn shook his head, backing away from the hall. "Uh- _uh_. No way, man. That's a 10-foot _rat_! With the wriggling tail, and the teeth, and..."

"Ooooo." Homer chuckled. "The big fraidycat's scared of rats?"

"You're goddamn right I'm scared of rats! You try growing up where I did and then tell me -"

Bart interrupted, an expression of awe on his face. "How did you do that?"

"What?"

"Say that word."

Gunn frowned. "'Rats'?"

"No, the one before 'right'."

"'Goddamn'?"

"Yeah. How did you do that?"

"Uh..."

The linguistic discussion was cut short by a violent crash against the door. Itchy and Scratchy had gotten back up and were now doing their best to hack their way inside, and only Angel's strength was keeping the door closed. "OK, _someone_ figure out a way to stop these demons! Wesley, I'm looking in your general direction!"

"They're not demons," Lisa piped up. "They're cartoon characters."

Wesley shook his head. "That's preposterous. Cartoon characters don't come to life."

"Yeah, well, I'm trying to hold up a door against some pretty convincing evidence that they do, Wes!" Angel grunted as one of the axes bit halfway through the wooden door and nipped at his shoulder.

Lisa continued. "Ever since Mr Burns left town and we lost power, things like this have been happening. We just don't know what's causing it."

"OK, let's figure that out after we've stopped them." A lightbulb went on over Fred's head. "Mrs Simpson? I noticed a bag of potato chips in the kitchen, you wouldn't have any dip around?"

Marge was busy burping Maggie, who didn't seem to mind staying up this late. "Well, of course I do, but..."

"Lisa? Wanna help me out?" Fred and Lisa ran into the kitchen, returning seconds later with a big bowl of onion dip. "Angel, step aside."

"You sure?" Another axe blade hacked through the door, missing Angel's scalp by barely an inch. "Hey! Watch the hair!"

Fred nodded. "I'm sure. Let'em in."

Angel quickly jumped aside and the door flew open as the two monsters pushed their way inside – only to have the entire bowl of dip thrown in their faces by Lisa and Fred.

Itchy and Scratchy stopped, dumbstruck. Scratchy tentatively licked his lips. Then they both shook off their distraction and charged again – for about a second. That's how long it took for Wesley to get out his double-barrel shotgun and blow both of their heads off.

Fred drew a sigh of relief. "OK. I guess your plan was better than mine."

Angel brushed some bits-o-Itchy off his coat. "I don't mean to question your judgement, Fred, but... dip?"

"Well, it worked on cartoon characters in _Who Framed Roger Rabbit_... I figured it was worth a try. We're not exactly in well-explored empirical territory here."

Marge grumbled disapprovingly. "Homer, stop that. That dip's been sitting in room temperature for days."

"But it's so tasty!" He was kneeling over the two cartoon corpses, scooping up dip and stuffing his face with it. "Mmm... dip with brains."

Gunn was starting to regain his composure. "So... can we go back to LA and fight ordinary demons now?"

"Just a minute." Wesley turned to Lisa. "You're saying things like this have been happening since Mr Burns left?"

"Yeah. Ghosts, monsters, inanimate objects coming to life, fictional characters becoming real... Oh, and our neighbor Mrs Flanders came back."

"What's so unusual about that?"

"She's been dead for years."

"You mean she's a zombie?"

"Hey, don't knock zombies!" Homer did a triumphant little dance. "Now that she's back, guess who's no longer the smelliest person on the block?"

Wesley and Angel looked at each other and nodded. No hero could leave this poor town to fend for itself against monsters like this. They would have to come up with a plan to save Springfield.

* * *

  
Angel huffed. "Do I really have to?"

"We need inside information on what Mr Burns is up to right now," Wesley explained patiently. "With Harmony back in the steno pool, Spike is the only one in a position to keep track of him. Just call him and ask what's going on."

"But Spike doesn't even have a phone!"

"No, but that one office he likes to haunt has both a couch and a speaker phone. Try that one."

"It's 1AM, he's a ghost, and -"

"...and a creature of the night and of habit. _Call_ him."

Angel sighed and dialled. One ring... two... thr- "Hello? Spike?"

(...)

"Who's this? Waylon who?"

(...)

"Oh, right... uh... sorry for waking you. Is Spike there?"

(...)

"Good. Put him on."

(...)

"Spike. Would you mind telling me why Burns' assistant is answering your phone in the middle of the night?"

(...)

"What? Jealous? Of _course_ not, that's..."

(...)

"Thank you, Spike, I really didn't want to know that. Just listen, OK? We need to know what Mr Burns has been up to, and it's a lot more important than our squabbles, so how about you show me you've really got a soul and make yourself useful for -"

(...)

"And _don't_ call me 'Grandpa'!"

As Angel continued ranting on the phone, Homer nudged Fred with a surprised look on his face. " _He's_ someone's grandpa?"

"Well... kinda."

"Pff," Homer snorted. "So much for that nonsense about him being a vampire. Does he bore everyone with long, pointless stories about how things were back in his day, too?"

"Actually, a lot of the time -" Fred started before Angel shot her a withering look; she quickly remembered about vampire hearing and changed her mind. "Oh, no, not at all. Angel's completely living in the now, yep."

* * *

  
The research party in the Simpsons' kitchen continued all night. As the sun rose, only Fred, Wesley and Lisa were still working, trying to find a reason for the paranormal activity in Springfield. Angel had taken care to close all the curtains, and now sat sipping the blood Marge had found for him. "So, any progress yet?"

Wesley scratched his stubbly cheek. "Well, yes and no. Spike's information that Mr Smithers and his associate were brought to Los Angeles magically rather than through conventional means of transport _should_ be significant, but I can't really see how it would cause something like this. But I'm sure we'll find -"

"Goooooood morning everybody! What's for breakfast?" Bart entered the kitchen and immediately frowned. "Hey, why is it so dark in here?" And with that, before anyone could react, he pulled open the curtains, bathing the entire kitchen in sunlight.

Which didn't hurt Angel at all.

He sat there, basking. "OK, not that I'm complaining, but...?"

"Of course!" Wesley's face lit up. "If the sun isn't harmful to vampires, then we must be in some sort of alternate universe. Just like when we went to that hell dimension in-"

"Hey!" Bart and Lisa interrupted simultaneously. "Who are you calling a hell dimension?"

"Well, I don't think Springfield is a hell dimension, obviously. But it appears to be... a different 'verse, if you will."

"But we didn't go through any portals or anything to get here, we just... drove."

"Exactly, Fred. Which means that when Wolfram & Hart collected Mr Burns and Mr Smithers, they must have opened some sort of crack in reality, causing the two dimensions to bleed together and subverting the natural order of things. Normally, this would be a one-shot deal and the crack would close by itself, but somehow this one appears to remain open. If we don't close it, the results could eventually be disastrous."

"Great!" Angel bounced to his feet with a big sunny grin on his face. "So, what are we waiting for? It's a beautiful day outside, let's go find that crack!"

* * *

  
Springfield in the daytime was significantly less deserted than it had been at night. Some kids were playing, the local reverend was walking his dog (making sure to have it do its business on the Flanders' lawn) and koala bears were very slowly starting to dominate the local wildlife. It was, as Angel pointed out three times within 20 minutes, a fantastic day for fighting monsters.

First, they took care of Maude Flanders the Zombie. After a quick lesson on the theme of "she's not the person she once was, just a soulless demon wearing her face", Homer was sent forth to knock on the door.

"Hi-diddly-ho there, neighborino!" There was something hesitant and tired in Ned's jolly greeting. "What brings you to the Flanders pad?"

"Uh... hi, Ned."Homer tried to sneak a peek inside the house. "I was wondering if I could borrow your... um..."

"Well, Homer... now's not really the best time -"

"By the way, how's Maude?"

"Oh, she's... much better." Ned scratched the back of his head with an uncertain smile. "Yes-siree-bob, she's -"

He was interrupted by a loud cry from inside. _"BRAAAAAINS! BRAAAINS!"_

"Still a zombie, huh?"

"Yeah... uh... well... what was it you wanted, Homer?"

"I need to borrow your... um..." _Think, Homer, think. There has to be something you know that Flanders has._ "...your bible."

"Well, I am sort of using it, but I suppose I could let you have one of my spares... I'll just pop upstairs and get it. Wait here."

As soon as Flanders had gone upstairs, Homer ran inside the house. He found the half-rotted Zombie Maude in the living room, straining against the ropes that held her tied to a chair. She briefly looked in Homer's direction, then made a disappointed noise and kept screaming for brains.

"It's go-time, you monster!" Homer pulled out Scratchy's axe and proceeded to chop the zombie up, but no matter how many limbs he hacked off it kept screaming and trying to get away. "Take that! And that! And that! Why... won't... you... DIE?"

"Homer!" Wesley called from outside. "You have to destroy the brain!"

"Oh. Gotcha." Homer planted the axe in Maude's head, which did the trick. "HA! All bow to Homer the Zombie Sla... Ewww."

Just as Maude dissolved into a putrid mess of blood, rotting flesh and various fluids that are better left unspecified, Ned and his two boys came back downstairs and stood staring in disbelief.

"Daddy?" Rod's voice shook. "Is Mommy back in heaven now?"

"Homer... you... kill-diddly-iddly..."

"Gotta go!" Homer quickly dropped the axe and ran back outside to the others.

* * *

  
Having collected Lorne and some volunteers, the gang started searching for the crack. Burns' mansion was eerily quiet as they made their way inside the main hall... at least until Grandpa Simpson spoke up in a loud, trembling cry.

"This place is evil! EEEEVIL, I tells ya!"

"Grandpa, you said that about every house we passed on the way here," Marge grumbled.

Wesley started handing out orders. "Right. Principal Skinner, you, Lorne and Apu search the West wing. Homer and Gunn, try the East."

All five nodded and headed off, Homer chatting amicably with the surly Gunn. "So, when did you start losing your hair? I've tried everything, but..."

Wesley turned to the vampire. "Angel -"

"I thought I'd look through the garden. I mean, with the sunshine and everything, I know that's where I'd hide if I were a pandimensional crack."

"I was just about to suggest that." Wesley breathed a sigh of relief; enough sun for Angel might cancel out several weeks' worth of brooding when they got back. "And Fred, professor Frink, Bart and I will take the upstairs."

"Hey! I wanna come with!" Lisa looked devastated at being left behind.

"Sorry, honey, I'm afraid you'll have to stay down here with me and Maggie," Marge said.

"But -"

"Your mom's right, Lisa." Fred kneeled down by the 8-year-old. "This is dangerous business, and nobody wants you to get hurt. See you in a few, OK?"

The oldest human member of the posse spoke up. "And what about me? I was fightin' Germans before any of you were even a twinkle in the milkman's eye! If there's a monster around here, I'll be the one to find it, dagnabbit!"

"Grandpa -"

"Oh, I get it! 'Grandpa's old and useless, he can't be counted on to fight the forces of darkness anymore', is it? Well, I'm still full of piss and vinegar, and I'm telling you I'm-" He fell asleep where he stood, snoring loudly.

Wesley's party made its way upstairs, guided by Bart who knew the place inside out. Just outside Burns' private study, they paused and listened carefully; they could hear a faint buzzing noise, as well as two voices arguing. Wesley cocked his shotgun. "On my signal. One... two... three!" He kicked the door down.

The crack in reality stretched from one end of the room to the other, glowing bright blue and buzzing angrily as it tried in vain to close. Also in the room was a large spaceship of the flying-saucer variety – only not so much flying as stuck in the crack like a cork in a bottle. Through its transparent dome, the gang could see two green space aliens with tentacles and huge fangs, drooling profusely as they argued about just who had gotten them into this mess. When Fred cleared her throat, the aliens turned towards them in surprise, and one of them spoke up in a deep, supposedly terrifying voice.

"Oh. Um... Greetings, earthlings. I am Kang, and this is my sister Kodos. We are your new mas..." Kodos prodded him and pointed to Wesley's shotgun. "...I mean, we come in peace."

Kodos nodded. "Yes. Peace. Absolutely. I don't suppose you could give us a little help getting out of this predicament, so we can kill... I mean, reward and serve you?"

Wesley stepped forward. "What are you doing here?"

"We were on our way to London when we were sucked in by this thing and got stuck. _Someone_ ," Kang shot Kodos a mean glare, "had the oh-so-bright idea of infiltrating humanity by posing as the British government."

"The plan would have worked if you had known how to navigate!"

"No, it _wouldn't_! Nine and Rose would have stopped us, and then the Daleks would..."

"This is bad." Wesley turned to the others. "It sounds like the crack is spreading to even more 'verses. We need to close it immediately. Ideas, anyone?"

Professor Frink puffed himself up. "Well, it should be obvious to anyone with an advanced degree in theoretical physics that what we're dealing with here is a practical application of Wiltzinger's theorem of the..."

"Really?" Fred frowned. "Wiltzinger specifically ruled out portals between different worlds, right? This looks more like a DuCroutier-style wormhole to me, and..."

"Oh sweet _glayven muyven_ , DuCroutier was a hack!"

Bart yawned; this was beginning to sound an awful lot like school. Hmmm, that spaceship looked like it needed a dent or two... He got out his slingshot, lined up a small stone, pulled the rubber band back and let go. The pebble hit the spaceship with a distinct "ding", offsetting the delicate balance that kept it trapped, and with a loud "schwooop!" the spaceship was sucked into the crack, which closed and disappeared. Everyone looked at Bart, who immediately hid the slingshot behind his back. "I didn't do it. Nobody saw me. You can't prove anything."

"Actually," Wesley said, "that was a pretty good solution."

Fred scratched her arm. "But what if they belonged to this 'verse and are trapped in the wrong one now?"

"Well, that's unfortunate, but I suppose they're somebody else's problem now, so..." Suddenly, a thought struck Wesley. "Wait! How are we going to get back home now that the crack is closed?"

* * *

  
A few hours later, Professor Frink had finished constructing the portable crack generator that would make it possible for them to drive back to Los Angeles. As he only had enough material for one, they had convinced principal Skinner to let Otto drive everyone there in the school bus.

As the Angel gang and the Simpsons family got ready to board the bus, the citizens of Springfield gathered to see them off, but there was a general unease in the crowd. Finally, Cletus the slack-jawed yokel said what was on everyone's mind. "Hey, wait a minute. What if there's more of them thar monsters runnin' 'round?"

"My God!" Mrs Lovejoy grew pale with fright. "Somebody PLEASE think of the CHILDREN!"

"Well..." Angel frowned. "Don't you have _any_ champions in this town?"

"Champions?"

"Yeah, you know. Heroes."

Bart's face lit up. "You mean like Radioactive Man? With capes and tights and stuff?"

"I guess... but non-fictional."

Homer patted him on the back, smiling reassuringly. "Don't worry, I know just the people. Just give me a minute." Five minutes later he was back with two cape-and-tights-wearing persons in tow. "I give you: Springfield's champions!"

"Uh..." Angel gave him a doubtful look, then shrugged. "Right. So, we don't expect there to be any more trouble now that the crack has been closed, but just in case, your job will be to fight it – if possible – but above all to make sure that everyone is safe. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Yes sir! Duffman will protect this city!" Duffman puffed his chest out proudly. "Any other fiends who try to take over Springfield will have to face the cool, relaxing, foamy wrath of _Duffman_!"

His stripy co-champion, the Bumblebee Man, looked slightly less confident as he anxiously shook his head. "Ay, dios mio. Yo no soy un vigilante."

And as the dusk settled, the school bus pulled out onto the streets of Springfield and Otto put the pedal to the metal. And so they drove on towards LA through the cooling darkness, almost running down an overweight man who was crossing the street while reading the latest issue of _The Astonishing X-Men_ and avoided being hit by the bus only by diving for cover at the last second. To the sound of Homer yelling "Eat my dust, Springfield!" and a hearty "HAAA-ha!" from a schoolboy who happened to see the incident, the fat man got to his feet with as much wounded dignity as he could muster, carefully dusted himself off and snorted with contempt.

"Worst. Crossover. Ever."


	6. Turning

**Part 6: Turning**

"Are we in Los Angeles yet?"

The school bus drove through the desert towards their goal. The sun was beaming down outside, but despite the lack of necro-tempered glass, Angel was in no danger of getting insta-tanned into oblivion; it was obvious that nobody had washed these windows in a long time.

"Are we in Los Angeles yet?"

Of course, he was seriously contemplating staking himself if Homer didn't shut up, but at least he would dust with a slight Springfield tan.

"Are we in -"

"NO. Do you see what's out there? That's a desert. Los Angeles is a big city. When we get there, you'll know."

"Oh." Homer laughed, embarrassed. "Of course."

The rest of the gang were spread out throughout the bus, preparing for their assault on Wolfram & Hart. Bart sat in the back, using his "Li'l Bastard's Forgery Kit" to make Wolfram & Hart ID cards for all of them, while Lisa, Fred and Wesley were going over the details of their big plan to defeat Mr Burns. Lorne, who had spent all night in Moe's Tavern taking song requests, slept the sleep of the truly exhausted and somewhat sore-of-throat.

Sitting further up front to avoid car sickness, Gunn had been roped into taking care of Maggie while Marge made sandwiches for everyone. It was a sight to behold, as the former street thug turned ultra-professional lawyer played peek-a-boo with the cute little baby without giving a rat's ass about what anyone else thought. "Wheeere's Maggie? Theeere's Maggie! Hey, I got your nose! Yes I _do_!" The infant chuckled along happily before Otto's truly dreadful singing interrupted them and made her start crying.

_"I'm not saying that I'm better than you, I'm better than you, I'm better than yooooooou!"_ The bus driver was headbanging over the steering wheel, eyes closed, singing along to the faint sound of cymbals and guitars seeping from his headphones. A few seats back, Lorne woke up with a scream.

"Ey, YO! Otto!" Gunn shook his shoulder, causing the bus to lurch violently across three lanes. "Eyes on the road!"

"Oh. Sorry, dude. It's just a kick-ass song, you know?" Otto stopped singing and straightened the bus out, almost winding up in the ditch before getting back into his own lane and flooring it.

"So..." Homer peered out the window at the passing desert. "Are we in Los Angeles yet?"

* * *

  
Eve checked her reflection in the mirror, practising her superior-and-evil look. It was time to put a stop to this. Having Mr Burns take over Wolfram & Hart had proven to be a huge mistake, and the senior partners were on her every day to do something about him. As if that wasn't enough, with Angel leaving town for parts unknown, her and Lindsey's plan was also in danger of being put on indefinite hiatus. They needed to take the bull by the horns (even though there were no literal horns to grab this time, which for a law firm catering to demons was a welcome change) and restore order.

As she headed for her showdown with Burns, she noticed Spike and Smithers at the secretary's desk, chatting like two old friends. Excellent. Having Spike recorporealized was step 1 in the plan, and Lindsey should be along any minute now with the package that would turn him back into a vampire. She pushed open the doors to the CEO's office. "Mr Burns, we need to talk."

"Oh, you again." The old man looked up at her. "You really are very annoying, you know. Now what do you want?"

"It's not about what I want. It's about the senior partners. They are very unhappy with your performance so far; you were hired to run a law firm, and so far you've managed to kill half our client base and alienate the other half to the point where we're fending off more lawsuits for breach of contract than we're winning. Also -"

"Yes, yes, yes." He interrupted her with an impatient wave of his hand. "All in good time. First, would you mind taking a step to the left?"

She smiled, as smug as smug can be. "Mr Burns, I'm an immortal child of the Senior Partners, and as such have access to a lot of information – including the architecture of this office. Your slapstick trapdoors may fool hapless Irish vampires, but they won't work on me."

"Oh really? Then I guess I'll just have to do this the old-fashioned way." Burns slowly got to his feet, picked up a ruler from his desk and brandished it threateningly as he walked over to her. "I'll give you the thrashing of a lifetime! Take _that_!" The weak blow barely ruffled Eve's chic pantsuit, but left Burns panting with exhaustion. "Had... enough?"

Eve shook her head in pity. "This really is pathetic. I'm afraid you leave me no choice; I'm going to recommend to the senior partners that they relieve you of your duties as CEO immediately. I'd tell you to pack, but... where you're going, I'm afraid it wouldn't do you any good." She turned and walked out of the office.

Burns tottered after her, furious. They both came out into the lobby just as the elevator doors closed on a figure in a UPS uniform, and saw Smithers and Spike both looking curiously at the newly-delivered package sitting on the desk.

"Smithers!" The old man gestured after Eve. "Apprehend her! We need to... oh, what's this? A package for me?" He cocked his head and walked towards the desk.

Spike tried to interfere, but of course Burns just walked right through him. "Hey, 'ang on, Gramps. That package is addressed to yours truly, and -"

"Balderdash! If it's sent to my office, it must be mine. Yoink!" Burns took the package from Smithers and tore it open.

Eve spun around, her face white with fear. "NO! Don't -"

But too late. A bright flash blinded everyone, and as Burns looked up again, his skin had gone considerably paler but his eyes burned with energy. "Well, wasn't that... interesting," he chuckled.

"That wasn't... you weren't supposed to... that was Spike's!" Eve shook her head in disbelief. "Do you know what you've _done_?"

"To be perfectly honest, no, but whatever it was it certainly did the trick. Why, I haven't felt this strong since I shot down the Hindenburg! Just look at this!" With next to no effort, Burns lifted the reception desk, Smithers and all, and tossed it halfway across the lobby. Then he turned back to Eve with a vicious grin. "Advantage... Burns." His eyes flashed yellow as he vamped out.

* * *

  
The school bus came to a screeching halt in front of the Wolfram & Hart office. Angel turned to the others. "So, everything ready?"

Nods all around.

"Fred, Wesley, you got everything?"

"Lemme just check the numbers once more..." Fred glanced at her notes. "Yup. This oughta do it." She picked up the bag of equipment they had assembled and handed it to Wesley.

"Right then." Angel looked at everyone. "Now, we all know what to do. The ID cards should get us up to the executive floor, and after that Wes and Fred get to take care of Mr Burns with that... what did you call it?"

Fred looked at Wesley and Lisa, who shrugged. "I think we're still on 'thingamajig'. Either that or 'Deburnsinator®'."

Angel nodded, slightly perplexed at how Fred managed to pronounce the ®. "What does it do, exactly?"

"Oh, you'll see," Lisa beamed.

"OK," Angel shrugged. "Now, hopefully there won't be much in the way of a fight, but if there is, Simpsons – hang back and try not to get in the way. OK?"

"Oh, I think I can handle myself in a fight," Homer chuckled. "Did I ever tell you about the time I fought the world heavyweight champion?"

Angel had realized that arguing with Homer served very little purpose. "I'm sure you can, which is why I need you to be the second front and back us up from a distance. OK?" He put his hand on the door handle. "Let's do this."

They ran for the entrance – Angel covering his head with his leather coat – just as a man in UPS uniform left the building. Homer ran right into him and sent him sprawling on the floor. Bart and Lisa took one look at his tattoos and long, unkempt hair and jumped back in horror.

"AAAAAAH! SIDESHOW BOB!"

"What did you call me?" Lindsey McDonald sat up and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Sure, I need a haircut, but..."

"Lindsey."

"Angel."

"Why you little...!" Angel pounced on Lindsey, wrapping his hands around his throat. "I'll teach you to stay away from LA!"

Gunn managed to drag Angel off Lindsey before he choked him to death, and Wesley held him down instead. "What are you doing here, Lindsey?"

"What's it look like?" The Texan coughed and indicated his brown uniform. "Took me years to work myself up from the mailroom, and since I can't use my law degree anymore... Guy's gotta make a living, right?"

"Sure." Gunn wasn't convinced. "Because we all know how carrying other peoples' mail always indicates peaceful sanity."

While the others interrogated Lindsey, Fred leaned down and whispered to Lisa. "Who's Sideshow Bob?"

"He's Bart's arch-nemesis. He's tried to kill him a dozen times or so. Who's that guy?"

"He's Angel's... um... he's a lawyer."

Just as everyone was getting ready to beat Lindsey up just to be on the safe side, the whole building was lit up by a blinding white flash. Everybody stumbled back, blinking. "What was..." Angel noticed Lindsey's smug grin. "You had something to do with this, didn't you?"

"Oh, you just wait, buddy; you're about to get a big surprise!" Laughing, Lindsey tore free and ran out into the street just as those with very good hearing could hear a window shatter high above and a scream coming closer and closer. Lindsey only made it a few steps before Eve, having been tossed out the 30th-storey window by Burns, landed right on him.

"Oh." Angel scratched his head. "Well, that was... ironic." They all watched for a few seconds as the two super-powered villains lay there in a heap on the sidewalk, moaning in pain. Deciding that Lindsey and Eve didn't seem like a threat at the moment, the gang made their way towards the elevator.

* * *

  
There's something about sappy elevator muzak that just heightens the pre-battle tension. Especially when there's a fat nuclear technician standing right next to you humming along. So when the elevator doors opened again, the Angel gang thought they were ready for anything.

They were horribly, disastrously wrong.

The executive floor was a horrible bloodbath. Smithers lay unconscious in front of the elevator among the remains of his desk, and any Wolfram & Hart employees who hadn't managed to get away lay drained at the feet of Mr Burns. Spike was standing next to him, too hopping mad to concentrate enough to punch him, so he settled for yelling a quite impressive list of profanities. Marge immediately covered Bart and Lisa's ears.

As the elevator doors opened with a bright *ding*, Burns slowly turned towards the gang, blood staining his jaw, and grinned through his fangs. "Aaaaaah. Fresh victims for my ever-growing army of the undead."

Angel looked at the grim tableau, his eyes narrowing. "Spike, please tell me you didn't do this."

"'Course I didn't bloody do this!" Spike was still furious, trying impotently to hit Burns. "This dried-up old geezer stole _my_ recorporealization!"

"Um..." Wesley turned to Fred. "He's... a vampire."

"Yup."

"Remind me... does that in any way interfere with our carefully researched plan for dealing with him?"

Fred offered a sheepish grin. "Only in the sense of ruining it completely...?"

"I thought as much." Wesley sighed and tossed the bag with the now-useless Deburnsinator® aside, scattering weapons all over the elevator. "Right then, new plan: slay him!"

As the Angel gang charged the lone vampire, the Simpsons hung back in the elevator as promised (though in Homer's case, it was more because the word "slay" had gotten "Jingle Bells" stuck in his head and he needed to concentrate on humming). This proved to be a very bad idea. Relishing this new feeling of strength and agility, Burns easily took our heroes by surprise; a quick roundhouse kick to the throat took Gunn down, followed by a leg sweep that knocked Angel off-balance and sent him tumbling into Wesley, and a quick punch that laid Fred out cold. The momentum carried him forward towards the elevator, trapping the Simpsons in there with him. He grabbed the terrified Lisa and bared his fangs, grinning at Angel who had barely had time to get up. "Another step and the girl gets it." Seeing everyone hesitate, he chuckled. "Well, it's been fun, but I'm off to dinner. Toodles!" Burns hit the "down" button and the doors shut, leaving the defenseless Simpsons family to the most evil of vampires.

Almost. At the very last second, the doors were blocked by a piece of wood. They *ding*ed open again, and Burns lifted his mouth from Lisa's neck and shot an exasperated look at Waylon Smithers, who held the door open with one of the broken-off legs of his desk. "Oh. You."

"Yes, sir. Me." Smithers got to his feet and looked his boss in the eye. "Please, you must listen to me, for everything we've been through... You can't do this."

"Oh, so I can't, can't I?"

"No... Monty. I know you're not this evil at heart. It's not to late to turn back."

"Actually -" Angel tried to get a word in edgewise, possibly about the effects of losing one's soul and how that relates to evilness levels, but never got to finish.

"Well... _Waylon_... That's certainly something to think about." Burns' eyes narrowed. "I've thought about it. You're fired." He delivered a bone-crushing kick to Smithers' chest, sending his faithful servant flying into the lobby and leaving no one to stop him. "Eeexcellent." Once again he reached for the "down" button...

...and froze in mid-movement. His grip on Lisa slackened, and he slowly turned around to look behind him, revealing a crossbow arrow sticking out of his back. "Oh. You again. I guess I should have known." It took him longer than most vampires to turn into dust – dustiness had, after all, been more or less his natural state for decades – but once he was a neat little pile on the floor, everyone could see Maggie standing there with a small crossbow, sucking on her pacifier.

As Marge dropped down next to Lisa to give her a big hug and check for bitemarks, Homer raised his arms in a triumphant "WOOHOO!" and Spike ghosted over to where Smithers was lying. "Waylon! Are you OK? _Someone get a doctor!_ "

Smithers didn't seem to be long for this world. Burns had crushed most of his ribs, and he was coughing up blood. "It's... OK, Spike. I... I was never... much good... on my own... anyway. Thanks... for everything." He held his hand up, and Spike managed to concentrate enough to hold it.

Just then the door swung open and Wolfram & Hart's best doctor entered, waving happily and announcing in a Mexican accent: "Hi, everybody!"

Everybody – including Smithers - smiled at him and answered. "HI, DOCTOR NICK!"

Doctor Nick leaned down over the fading Smithers. "Hmmm. This is not looking good. I think the best thing to do in a case like this is to simply give up."

Behind them, Homer was watching with a confused look on his face. "I don't get it. How come he's dying? Nobody ever dies in Springfield. Well, except for Flanderses's wife, and that saxophone guy and _maybe_ Dr Marvin Monroe, but..."

"That's it!" Wesley ran over to the elevator, picking up the Deburnsinator®, which had been constructed out of Dr Frink's portable crack generator. "If we send you all back to Springfield right now, he might still make it. Everybody, gather around Mr Smithers."

There was time for a few short goodbyes. Lisa gave Fred a tearful hug, Bart high-fived Gunn, and Spike and Smithers whispered something private. Then the Simpsons lined up around Smithers, Wesley activated the Deburnsinator® and they slowly started fading over into their own dimension. The last thing the gang saw of the Simpsons was Homer suddenly looking at Angel, frowning and yelling: "Hey, wait a minute! You guys promised you'd fix my TV!"

When they were gone, Angel drew a deep sigh of relief. "Right, guys. I guess we're back in business. Let's start cleaning this place up... oh, and someone get me some donuts. I've got this strange craving."

* * *

  
**Epilogue**

_ Los Angeles _

Over the next few weeks, the situation returned to normal in the Wolfram & Hart building. The senior partners still weren't happy with Angel's performance, but considering the alternatives, they'd decided to give him another chance. Spike was moody as hell, both over his continued ghostiness and for something else he wouldn't discuss, but he got to take it all out on Angel; after hanging out with Homer Simpson for 48 hours, Angel found Spike's incessant needling rather refreshing. And since Otto had been left behind in the rush he now had his own personal chauffeur, which didn't hurt either.

Burns' brief reign had had one positive outcome, though, as Wesley explained to Angel.

"His customer care programme left something to be desired, to say the least. As far as I can tell, he had many of the city's most important demon rulers either wiped out or tied up in litigation for the next ten years or so."

"Well, we're the ones they're suing, so I really don't see how that's a good thing, Wes."

"Let me finish. My sources indicate that he may have done us a huge favour. Some of these demons were involved with something called the Circle of the Black Thorn, and apparently, they were planning something very big. Possibly _the_ apocalypse."

"So when Burns wiped them out..."

"...he probably didn't avert the apocalypse for all time, but at least he delayed it."

Gunn snorted, not quite believing it. "Yeah, well, far as I know all the crap in the universe usually balances out. If he stopped an apocalypse here, there's probably another one somewhere e-"

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Everyone looked up at the person who had suddenly walked into the room; an overweight man in his early 40s, dressed in what was most likely the only suit he owned. "Uh, excuse me? Which one of you guys is Angel?"

Angel tentatively raised his hand.

"Ah, phew. I was afraid I was in the wrong office again. Man, those guys in the black magic department really didn't like being interrupted. Good thing I told them I work for you, huh?" The man walked in and shook Angel's hand. "Really pleased to meet you. I'm Peter Griffin, your new liaison to the senior partners. Wow, can I get an office like this one too?"

In another dimension, the Wolf, Ram and Hart snickered evilly. They might not be able to get rid of him, but they'd be _blessed_ if they were going to make it easy for him.

_ Springfield _

It was a team effort, really. With Burns gone and Smithers still convalescing in the hospital, the employees of the Springfield powerplant took matters into their own hands and put the plant back in working condition. After two weeks of surprisingly hard work – the plant had been pretty much ready to fall apart even before Burns shut it down – it was ready to be reopened. The whole town turned out for the ceremony, and to thank the man who had saved the town from monsters by allowing him to push the button that would boot up the nuclear reactor.

After all, he had been the safety inspector at the plant for years, what could possibly go wrong?

Homer waved to the cheering crowd. "Thank you! Thank you! I hereby declare the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant reopened!" He turned towards the small panel that had been installed on the podium, more for show than anything else, and took a deep breath. "OK, Homer, you can do this. Remember your training." He hit the button and was immediately greeted by a friendly-sounding recorded message, blasting its message out for all of Springfield to hear.

_"Warning. Core meltdown imminent. You have... ten... minutes to vacate state. Have a nice day!"_

The crowd grew silent and glared at Homer, who really only had one thing to say.

"D'OH!"

**THE END**


End file.
